


I Want You (To Be Happier)

by DeadFreckledBoys



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadFreckledBoys/pseuds/DeadFreckledBoys
Summary: Kuroo can’t help but notice the way Kenma leans into him, like he’s a planet caught in the pull of Hinata’s solar system. Something tugs at his chest and he knows he has a decision to make.Falling in love with your best friend is hard—breaking up with your best friend is harder.





	I Want You (To Be Happier)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that cursed song "Happier" by Marshmello & Bastille that won't stop playing on the radio. 
> 
> Happy Birthday Kuroo! Sorry that you probably don't want this present.

“Didn’t know you were a poet,” Kuroo grins over Kenma’s shoulder.  
  
The mouse clicks furiously as Kenma minimizes the screen and swivels in his chair. His hands shove against Kuroo’s jacket, pushing his prying eyes away.  
  
“Get out.”  
  
Kuroo puts a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “Rude! Since when do you hide things from your partner in crime?”  
  
Kenma turns back around, laying his head across the keyboard with a thunk.  
  
“S’not your business,” He mutters into the hard plastic.  
  
Kuroo eyes the glossy frame on the bedside, a toothy grin and ginger hair staring back at him. He can spot the corner of the frame’s previous contents under a pile of homework and game discs balanced precariously at the edge of the desk—a faded photo of Kenma and himself from back in elementary school, Kuroo hoisting a tattered volleyball proudly in the air.  
  
“Are you going to see him?” Kuroo asks, the lilting jest in his voice absent.  
  
Kenma gives a long exhale, nodding his head, his cheek typing a row of gibberish across the screen.

 

* * *

  
  
The gymnasium echos with the sound of sneakers on linoleum, the chorus of chanting fans, and the whistle of a referee.  
  
Kuroo looks over to see Kenma watching the court, his eyes glued on one spot in particular—he doesn’t have to look over to know who’s caught his attention. His hands are clutching at an envelope peaking out of the corner of his jacket pocket, the paper wrinkled from over attention.  
  
The buzzer goes off. The crowd roars. Kenma stands, shouting into cupped hands, his voice louder than Kuroo’s ever heard before.  
  
Kenma runs to the railing, leaning over the edge, his hand waving frantically.  
  
Kuroo looks out into the crowd amassing below. Hinata lunges into the open arms of his setter, their faces crashing together and pulling back with a smile that spreads from ear to ear.  
  
Kenma’s hands are white knuckled on the bannister.  
  
There’s the tear of paper, Kenma dropping the envelope into the nearest trash bin as they make their way down the stairs.  
  
Hinata stampedes into them, arms wrapping around them, voice jittery with excitement.  
  
“You came!” Hinata grabs onto Kenma’s hands, shaking them up and down in sharp bursts. “We did it! We won Nationals!”  
  
“Congrats!” Kenma says, his smile natural to the untrained eye but Kuroo sees the pinch in his brows.

 

* * *

  
Cries are muffled against the dark fabric of Kuroo’s sweater, small hands clutching for purchase along his back. Kuroo buries his fingers in the thick curls of two-toned hair, voice soft as he calms the next wave of sobs.  
  
“It’s going to be okay. I’m here,” Kuroo whispers, “I’ll _always_ be here.”  
  
He rubs a thumb along Kenma’s cheek, wiping away a salty tear.  
  
Kenma looks up at him then, eyes glossy and questioning. He places his hand atop Kuroo’s, tentatively interlocking their fingers.  
  
Kenma kisses him. They both know it’s not what he wants—it’s not what he needs. Kuroo lets him.  
  
He kisses like he’s trying to solve a puzzle and Kuroo prays the pieces fit.

 

* * *

  
Kuroo pretends he doesn’t see the way Kenma looks at his phone like a painful reminder with every new text and notification. The bedside photo is gone with no replacement, the frame hidden away.  
  
He takes Kenma into his arms, kissing away the corners of his frown. It almost works, a smile tugging at Kenma’s lips but it never quite reaches his eyes.  
  
They don’t label it, the boundaries of their friendship wordlessly expanding as the months pass.  
  
They move in together after graduation. Their apartment is small and in a quiet corner of the city. The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling along the edges, the pipes in need of repair and a constant whistle seeping past the broken window-frame—but its home, _their home_.  
  
Kuroo takes up a shitty office job, early hours demanding he crawl out of the warm expanse of blankets and into the crisp and cruel, late autumn air. Kenma reaches a hand from beneath the covers, tugging at him.  
  
“S’cold,” he mutters, eyes still closed and a small frown just visible above the line of blankets.  
  
“I’ll be back soon, Love,” Kuroo places a kiss along his temple.  
  
Kenma groans and buries himself deeper into the mattress, quickly falling back into the embrace of sleep.  
  
Life passes by in monotony, Kuroo working overtime and conquering as many chores as his body can handle in one sitting before he crashes and the day starts anew. He only sees Kenma in the brief moments when their sleeping schedules align, Kenma spending most of his time awake at night, hunched over on his computer, doing freelance coding.  
  
It’s one of the rare evenings where Kuroo has the energy to cook and Kenma has awoken before five. They sit at the small dining room table—a lucky dumpster find from their first year, only one of the legs uneven. Kuroo picks lazily at his food, sorting through the pile of mail threatening to overcome the tabletop.  
  
“What’s this?” Kuroo thinks aloud as he opens a letter with intricate embroidery along the envelope. “Yakkun is getting married? Aren’t we too young for that?”  
  
Kenma hums from across the table, focused on slurping his soba. “I dunno, you’re kind of an old man already.”  
  
Kuroo smacks him atop the head with one of the rolled up newsletters. “Respect your elders!”  
  
“Yes, Grandpa,” Kenma says before he finishes his bowl, tossing it into the sink and returning to his office—a desk in the corner of the living room with a large monitor and a tower that groans like a geriatric going into cardiac arrest.  
  
A wedding. They’ll have to find their suits, buried somewhere in the back of their cramped closet, dusty from disuse. Kuroo is excited at the prospect, imagining drinking wine with Kenma in formal wear, it’ll be like a date.  
  
They don’t go out much.  
  
Kuroo can’t remember the last time someone was invited over either. He’s done a poor job keeping track of his fellow alumni. A drunken evening with Bokuto a few months prior perhaps the last time Kuroo recollects socializing outside of office hours.  
  
So it comes as a shock, when he hears the knock on the front door the next evening. Kuroo puts down the ladle next to the boiling pot on the stove, passing by Kenma, still curled up on the couch after finishing another late night deadline.  
  
“Is Kenma here?” Hinata asks from the other side of the door, a frown etched so deep into his features that Kuroo almost doesn’t recognize him.  
  
“Yeah, he’s sleeping though,” Kuroo replies.  
  
“Oh,” Hinata sighs, crumpling around the duffle bag Kuroo now notices lying heavy at his side.  
  
“You can come in though,” Kuroo says, hospitality overriding the bitter feeling bubbling up inside him.  
  
“Ah—Thank you,” Hinata says with a small bow as he shuffles into the entrance.  
  
“Nn?” Kenma moans from behind the couch, “Kuroo? I didn’t know we had company coming.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Kuroo says, unable to mask the bite in his tone.  
  
“Sorry…” Hinata says sheepishly.  
  
“Shōyō?” Kenma’s voice rises an octave, his limbs fighting against the blanket as he races towards him.  
  
Kuroo looks away, biting his lip as Kenma tugs the other close.  
  
“It’s been so long! What’ve you been up to?” Kenma asks excitedly, taking him in.  
  
“Its uh,” Hinata rubs the back of his neck, “a long story.”

* * *

  
“Why was he on your phone?” Kuroo hears the heated shout coming from the bathroom door followed by a muffled tinny reply.  
  
“If you’re over him, _then act like it!”_ There’s a pause. “You know what? I don’t care anymore! Just get your shit out of there before I’m back next week.”  
  
Hinata comes out of the bathroom moments later, his eyes puffy and rimmed with red.  
  
“Um—sorry!” He says as he bumps into Kuroo in the hallway. “I didn’t mean to be so loud!”  
  
“No worries,” Kuroo says, eyeing him as he returns to his makeshift bed on the couch.

* * *

  
He wakes up cold the next day, Kenma’s familiar warmth missing from between the sheets. As Kuroo pads his way into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee he can see the shape of him in the living room, illuminated by the soft glow of the TV.  
  
Kenma is sitting on the floor, his head resting on the couch cushion beside Hinata, the blanket lazily strewn between the two of them, Hinata’s arm dangling off the edge and lingering on Kenma’s shoulder.  
  
Kuroo feels bile rising up his throat and blames it on the acidity of his coffee as he makes his way to work that morning.

* * *

  
The week passes like molasses, Kuroo trapped between conflicting emotions as he watches Kenma come to life around Hinata.  
  
He’s left the house for the first time in weeks. Kuroo sees the cherry red in his cheeks as Kenma comes in from a walk with Hinata, his hair windswept and his skin glowing.  
  
They offer to have Kuroo come along the next time they set out, but he denies the request, claiming to have work to catch up on. It’s not exactly a lie.  
  
The two of them are now huddled in the living room, watching some television program, their laughter twinkling like glass. Kenma doesn’t even look at the screen, he just watches the rise and fall of Hinata’s chest with each passing giggle.  
  
Kuroo can’t help but notice the way Kenma leans into him, like he’s a planet caught in the pull of Hinata’s solar system. Something tugs at his chest and he knows he has a decision to make.  
 

* * *

  
  
“You going somewhere?” Kenma asks with a raised brow from his perch against the doorway.  
  
Kuroo debates lying, claiming he’s going for a business trip. It would give himself time to mull it over, to let the rush of feelings solidify. But he’s let this linger for long enough.  
  
“I’m leaving,” Kuroo says, shutting his suitcase.  
  
“What?” Kenma asks, baffled, “Where?”  
  
“I don’t know yet,” Kuroo focuses on the clink of the zipper catching on metal teeth, “My folks’ place? Maybe stop by Bokuto’s?”  
  
Kenma gives him a dark look, “For how long?”  
  
Kuroo shrugs. “Does it matter?”  
  
“I’d kind of like to know when my—” Kenma pauses and Kuroo’s heart stutters, “my best friend is planning on coming back!” The word stings, although Kuroo is thankful he’s still more than just a _roommate_.  
  
“We should end things,” Kuroo feels his stomach drop as he finally says the words.  
  
“End what?” Kenma asks.  
  
“Exactly,” Kuroo raises his hands in the air, “What are we, Kenma!”  
  
“Friends?” Kenma replies, his voice frantic, “ _Best friends?_ ”  
  
“And that’s all we’ll ever be.” All they ever _could be_.  
  
“You said you’d always be here,” Kenma’s voice is shaky, his eyes watery around the edges.  
  
“And I will, just…” Kuroo pauses, “not like _this_.” He gestures between them and at the cracked apartment walls around them.  
  
The tears start falling and Kuroo pulls him in for a tight hug. “I want you to be happy.”  
  
“I am happy,” Kenma cries into his shoulder, sounding anything but.  
  
“Happier,” Kuroo says, “the kind of happy I can’t give you.”  
  
Kuroo pulls away. “The kind of happy _he_ makes you.”  
  
Kenma looks up at him then, his face pained.  
  
“We both knew this was never going to work out between us,” Kuroo gives a pained laugh, his shoulders heaving, “I was never want you wanted.” And he never will be.  
  
“Kuroo—” Kenma falters, unable to deny the truth.  
  
“It’s okay. I don’t hate you for it, I could _never_ hate you,” Kuroo lets out a shaky breath. “Why don’t you go talk to him. You’ve finally got your second chance.”  
  
Kenma just buries his head into Kuroo’s chest, his hands clinging before Kuroo pushes away again.  
  
He grabs his suitcase and rolls it through the apartment, taking one last look at the popcorn ceilings and dingy windows before closing the door.  
  
He lingers, his hand gripping the knob as he’s plagued with second thoughts. He could change his mind. He could run back inside and Kenma would let him.  
  
But it’s not what he wants. Not what either of them wants.  
  
He let’s go.

 

* * *

  
The years pass and Kuroo has a new apartment, the windows a little less creaky and fresh paint lining the walls, but it never quite feels like _home_. It’s empty most days, he spends half his nights at the office now.  
  
The lock clicks open as he steps inside, transferring the pile of mail under his arm onto the dusty countertop. He sorts through the bills, his mind drifting, considering heating up a frozen meal instead of mustering the energy to cook tonight. He focuses back in when he reads a familiar name across one of the envelopes.  
  
He can’t help the way his fingers shake as he tears open the letter—An invitation. A wedding invitation.  
  
His heart tugs, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as he reads on.  
  
It’s going to be in the summer—fitting he thinks, for the sunshine couple all golden and orange. He secures the letter onto the fridge with a magnet, wiping off the corner where it’s damp.  
  
He rubs at his eyes as he pulls out his phone, not bothering to open his contacts, dialing the number still second nature.  
  
He waits for the tinny greeting on the other end before shouting into the receiver.  
  
“Congrats!”  
  
“Thanks,” Kenma says, pausing, “for everything.”  
  
“What are friends for?” Kuroo laughs, “Now tell me all the details! Do you have the venue booked already?”  
  
He can hear the smile in Kenma’s voice as he drones on about Hinata picking out a park, which had to include a volleyball court—of course—and that sneakers will be part of the mandatory dress-code.  
  
He’s happy for him.  
  
Kuroo feels his lips tug upwards, warmth washing over him.  
  
_He’s happy._

**Author's Note:**

> Well there you go, my first ever fanfiction posted on here! I haven't posted fic since my ff.net days back in high school, so I'm a little nervous, but I hope you liked it!
> 
> Also, there may or may not be a follow-up planned where Kuroo gets his own happy ending. *Fingers Crossed*


End file.
